


Stay With Me

by Whookami



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Bittersweet, Canon - Book, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, allusions of Newtmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 02:15:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4811069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whookami/pseuds/Whookami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alby confronts Newt on the eve of their leaving the Glade forever. Both boys must figure out what to do, what their final acts might be as leaders, as friends, and more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay With Me

**Author's Note:**

> This story should be mostly book universe complicit, but please ignore any small inconsistencies. Newt's appearance however is movie-verse. (Sorry, book lovers. TBS trumps book description for me.) Spoilers for the entire first book, and speculative spoilers for the next two. (the characters are speculating, not me. They're just good at it.)

"You can't go." 

Newt turned from the bed to look at his friend. Alby stood framed in the doorway, a few fine beads of sweat on his brow, and his face etched deep with worry.

"We can't buggin' stay here forever, Alby," the blond reasoned, giving his friend a half smile. Silence had settled over the Homestead, empty now save for the two young men who served as leaders. Chaos ruled everywhere else, boys running throughout the Glade as they prepared for their final departure. Even though neither would admit to it, they shared a strange sense of pain and loss at the thought of everyone leaving for good. It had been built to be their prison, but they had made it into a home. Together. Finding it hard to watch, both had taken a moment to slip away and remember, and had unsurprisingly found themselves here.

The dark skinned man hung his head as he took several steps into the small room. It was Newt's, had been for awhile. He'd been given the room shortly after...his accident. Alby winced internally, but even after all this time, he couldn't call it for what it was. The truth hurt too much. It usually did. The few possessions that filled the room were undeniably the blond boy's, each specifically selected for reasons only he knew. A couple of smooth polished rocks, Alby often saw the boy turning over in his hands absently as he would sit in bed late at night, unable to sleep. Some scraps of paper tacked up along the wall with nails, notes and diagrams, mostly plans for work distribution, crop rotation, and other such minutia that Alby himself really ought to do, as leader, but Newt was so much better at. A small sketch of a dead bird, done in meticulous detail, it's beady eyes eternally staring. He never much liked the drawing, it made him uneasy somehow, but he appreciated his friend's skill. A few feathers, none from the dead bird, he thought gratefully, lay by his pillow. Long and slender and light grey, they were downy and felt soothingly soft against the skin, as both boys in the room had had the opportunity to discover. 

Alby looked at each of the items in turn before looking once again at Newt, closer now, almost right in front of him. "I'm scared. What's out there..." He trailed off, wanting to rub his hands over his shorn scalp, but knowing that Newt would recognize the telltale sign of growing frustration, of desperation. 

With soft eyes, Newt ran his hands over Alby's upper arms, the fabric rustling against his calloused skin. "It'll be alright, Alby. We'll all do this together. I know there's a lot to be sca--" 

"You don't know!" The older boy interrupted harshly, his own hands lifting to grip his friend firmly by the shoulders. "You don't know, Newt, you can't--" 

"Right, I don't buggin' know," the boy replied, the normal lilt of his accent growing more pronounced, more gruff. "If you would actually start sharing stuff again with me, maybe I could help. Maybe we could figure out what to do, together." His voice grew soft and his eyes cast down. "We used to do that, remember? That's how it used to be." 

"Shuck, Newt," he murmured under his breath, his hands making their way down his friend's now slack arms, feeling gooseflesh break out beneath his fingers. Newt shivered, but didn't step back, didn't make for his baggy hoodie, which lay on the bed beside them. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. All this pressure, all these changes," Alby began, his voice coming out strained, almost to the point of breaking. "Since Nick died," he shook his head. "Nothing's been right, I'm trying so hard..." 

It was the younger man's turn to interrupt now, speaking sadly to his leader. "I know. I can see that, Alby. Any slinthead can. I've tried to make it easier for you, tried..." 

"You're doing enough, Newt. More than enough." 

"But everything's still so buggin' hard. Everything's going to hell," he finished, his voice wavering uncertainly. 

Alby's hands drifted to the blond's sides, the tips of his fingers pushing up the caramel coloured fabric of Newt's tank top. "Not because of you. Never because of you," he whispered into the near silent room, the only other sound the quickening breaths coming from the second in command. He loved how pale and soft the skin of Newt's stomach looked between his splayed fingers, loved the tremble he could feel radiating out from the boy, up into his arms, as he pushed the shirt higher. Most of all, he loved the way Newt's eyes melted into honey, his lips half open and practically waiting as he encouraged the blond out of the garment. It lay cast off on the floor as Alby guided his friend down onto the bed, watched as he wriggled further up the mattress so that they could both fit comfortably. 

Alby's mouth dipped to the blond's collar bone, nipping lightly as the other wrapped his arms around his abdomen, feeling his fingers digging at the fabric of his shirt. 

He chuckled deep in his throat before lifting his head to look into Newt's eyes, to stare down at the centre of his universe before slowly leaning into to kiss him. The press of their lips together was a familiar sensation, a comfort against all the worst moments of their lives, a sharing of the most hidden parts of themselves. It lingered, soft and sweet, neither rushing, neither pushing, but both wanting. Newt pressed his body up, tight against his friend, needing to feel him, all of him, to be able to hold on to him. 

The kiss broke off into panting, rasping loudly in the silent building. Their bodies moved naturally together, knowing each and every place they liked to be touched, how they wanted to be touched. It felt like it always had, like it was meant to be forever. Then three simple words shattered everything. "So, you're staying," Alby muttered into the shell of Newt's ear, his voice rich with pleasure and certainty. The other boy stilled beneath him, the loss of sensation almost eerily sudden. 

"Alby," the blond's voice was tight, very controlled. It was the way he sounded when he was upset, frustrated, but trying to hide it. "We cannot stay here. This place...it isn't home anymore." 

"It is," the dark skinned boy pushed, almost pleaded, his fingers gripping hard against the younger boy's slim hips. "It can still be like this. We can." 

"Alby, the doors aren't closing anymore. The Grievers are going to come and pick us off, one by one. You want to sit here and watch everyone die over the next fifty days or so? I sure don't. I've had my fill of death." 

"Oh sure, you can say that." Alby lifted his head enough to stare down into his friend's eyes. "I don't remember you asking me how I felt about death, how well I could deal with it, six months ago." 

Newt's eyes rounded with shock, his face looking much younger than his seventeen or so years. Then his expression crumbled, anger darkening and blotting out the hurt and sorrow. "I've said my piece about that. I've said my sorries," he grunted bitterly, his clipped voice full of venom. "You want me to beg forgiveness? To crawl to you and ask over and over again that you welcome me back, that I was scared and weak, and to plead for you to just accept me again? Love me again? I won't do it!" 

"No. No, Newt. I just meant...You can't have all the say in this. You can't just ask me to..." 

"Yes. Yes, I can, and I am," he insisted, eyes boring into the man hovering atop him. "Alby, leave with me. Leave this place. There's only death here now. We have to try, for everyone's sake." 

"There's only death above, Newt. I saw it, I remember." 

"Yeah, I remember too. I was listenin'. You called it the buggin' Flare," Newt replied, his voice dismissive and cold. "It doesn't matter, we don't have a choice, Alby. If we stay, everyone dies. If it were just us..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "I can't ask everyone to stay here and die, nor can I let them go by themselves." 

"Thomas will lead them. Let him take them out of here. Maybe, maybe the Grievers will leave us alone then." 

Newt's face scrunched up, like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You'd send them off like that?" He asked softly, his tone disbelieving. "Thomas, he's a good guy. He means well, and I do trust him, I do." Newt trailed off, biting his lip, his voice growing softer for a moment before managing to find the words he needed. "He doesn't know them, though, Alby. He doesn't know them, what they're each capable of, what they each need. Their ours, Alby. We can't just send them off alone, and just...hope for the best, without ever knowing. I can't do that. I thought I could, once. I thought I could be okay just never knowing, leaving everyone and everything behind. You know what convinced me otherwise? You, Alby," the boy rushed on, not waiting for a reply. "I was ready to give up, I had given up, but you wouldn't let me. You dragged me back here. You forced me to live, and I wanted to hate you, I wanted to hate you so much." Newt's eyes had taken on a glassy sheen, but his voice was still strong and determined. "You stayed with me, though. You never left my side, never let me feel alone. You knew how I might feel, you knew what you were risking, but put my life above that. I have to do that too. Not just for the rest of our Gladers, but for you too. Let's get out of here together, Alby," he offered, his hand lifting to stroke along the rich brown skin of the leader's cheek. 

Alby wanted to lean into that touch, to lose himself in it and agree with anything the blond wanted from him. He wanted their bodies to fit together once more, like they had for years now, and forget all the recent troubles that had happened. He wanted to be happy once more, to just be with Newt and tell the rest of the world, what little of it they knew, to shuck right off. 

"I can't let you do that," he replied, surprised at how tired and spent his voice sounded. Newt's hand stopped on his cheek, the pads of his fingers the faintest of sensations against his skin. "Please understand," he asked, lowering his face towards the blond, focusing on his parted lips and not his hurt eyes. It lasted half a second, a fleeting taste of paradise, before Newt pulled back. 

"Stop," he whispered softly, one hand pressed against his friend's chest lightly, his head pushed deeper into the nest of pillows beneath him. 

"Newt, please," Alby asked, once more trying to capture the boy's lips with his own, to remind him of all the time they had spent together, of everything they meant to each other. 

"Stop, Alby," the hand was more firm, pushing upward enough that the older boy couldn't lean in close enough to reach his lover again. With a shuddering sigh, he lifted himself up and off the other boy, knowing in his heart that this had been their last chance, and that whatever it was they had had, they could never just go back. Everything was ruined, much like the Glade itself. There was nothing more to be said. 

Well, almost nothing. 

Newt shuffled off the bed, pulling his hoodie along with him. He dipped gracefully to retrieve his tank top from the floor and shrugged his way into it in a single fluid motion. Alby couldn't help but stare as the firm planes of the boy's back disappeared beneath the layers of caramel and ivory cloth, knowing he'd never see the sight again, never feel the warmth of his skin. He couldn't stand it. There was still one thing, one small desperate hope, one way of reaching across the gulf that had torn it's way between the two young men. 

"WiCKeD is testing us," he blurted out, letting the memories well up inside his mind. They loomed above him like shadows spreading out over his soul, but he refused to run, refused to hide this time. Newt had stopped moving forward, his shirt falling over his form to rest as it always did, it's bulky mass concealing part of his beauty. "The Flare is deadly. It makes people crazy. Turns them into animals, or monsters. The infection spreads so quickly, they can't stop it. Couldn't stop it." 

The blond turned only slightly, one dark eye looking back at his former leader from over his shoulder. "Okay. So?" 

"What would WiCKeD want with a bunch of kids?" Alby offered, trying to sound reasonable, trying not to let his friend hear how desperate he was. He forced his arms into stillness, resisting the urge to run his hands over his scalp. He couldn't show any of these feelings to the other boy, not now, not if he wanted to be taken seriously. He didn't leave time for Newt to prompt him for an answer. "We're immune. We're test subjects. We're the literal white lab rats, running their maze." 

Newt blinked in shock, his eyes wide again. He frowned, concentration and consternation deepening the shadows on his face. "Why, what good is this doing--" he trailed off, unable to see the big picture, unable to recall the memories that would make this terrifying truth show itself to him. 

"They need to know why. Why are we immune? What is in our heads that makes us different, that makes it so the Flare can't rot our minds away?" 

"So, they put us in a maze to kill us? How the bloody hell does that help??" 

Alby bit his lip. "I--I'm not exactly sure. We didn't know, not everything. We didn't get to choose this. They want to put us through tests, to study our brains. They need to see how we act and react to all sorts of stimuli. I guess, if a few die during that process, they don't really care. They have enough of us that they can afford to lose some." 

"That's disgusting!" 

"I know!" Alby thundered back in response, coming swiftly to his feet. "Thomas is one of them, he helped set all these tests up for us to go through. And now, you want to follow him out into a world that is filled with death and disease?" 

"That Thomas doesn't exist anymore," Newt tried to explain, the expression on his face hardening. "Whoever we were before doesn't matter. We have to deal with who we are now." 

"We were tested before being sent in here. Our intelligence. Our physical health. Our psychology." 

Confusion briefly clouded the blond's face. "Your point?" 

"So, they sent a fourteen year old boy in here, to try and survive, to run through their tests, knowing he was showing signs of depression." Newt froze, his entire body tensing up instinctively like a man who had been struck. Alby wanted to go to him, to hold him and apologize, but he had no choice. If he wanted to reach Newt, he had to push further. "They sent you in here knowing all that. They didn't offer you any treatment. They watched you climb that wall and did nothing to save you. They didn't send us anything to help us heal you afterwards, Newt, because to them you were always expendable." 

"We all are," the blond stated grimly, turning once more to leave. 

"Not everyone is the same, Newt. We can't be. It's science, right? You need a control, a way of comparing results to show the differences conclusively!" 

"I know how science works, Alby," the younger boy retorted hotly, fists clenched into tight balls. "They named me after Sir Isaac Newton, after all," he spat, with a sneer twisting his lips. 

"What if you're a control, Newt?" 

The boy hesitated once more. 

"What if...you aren't immune? Maybe that's why they didn't care they were tossing you in here, knowing how it might affect your mind? Maybe that's why they never tried to help you?" 

The two of them stood frozen in the lengthening shadows of the room, whether they were real, or imagined though, Alby was no longer certain. Finally after several minutes had stretched by, taking an infinitely long amount of time to pass, Newt exhaled softly. 

"It doesn't matter. It can't. I can't stay here because I'm afraid that what's out there may kill me." He smiled back at his old friend sadly. "I gave away the right to put myself first," he tried to explain, tried to make Alby see. It wouldn't work though, the older boy didn't accept Newt's notion that he had given up his right to put himself first, or be selfish, or take care of himself, just because of the past. He knew the blond believed it, but that didn't make it true, not to Alby, not to any of the Gladers. "I'm going to help these guys escape, and whatever fate is waiting for all of us out there, I accept it. I'm going to help Thomas get us out of here. I don't care what he did in the past, he's trying to do the right thing now." 

"You're falling in love with him, aren't you?" 

Newt's face creased into one of surprise, of hurt and betrayal, and his mouth worked silently a few moments before he finally croaked out a single startled "What??" 

The once strong leader of the Gladers slumped forward, his shoulders drooping in defeat. "I see how you look at him. When he talks about getting out of here, when he talks about saving everyone. You light up, Newt. I haven't seen you this alive since..." He trailed off pathetically, not needing to finish the sentence. They both knew what he meant. As much as Alby wanted to believe that things had only changed because of Thomas, he knew it wasn't true. Things had changed when Newt began to believe there was no hope. When he jumped. When Alby refused to let him die. They changed when Newt gave up running and began working in the gardens. When Nick died, and Alby became leader. When on the first bonfire since Alby took over they kissed, and their hearts felt hollow and separate, and their lips moved without the feelings that used to burn through them before. The heat that had existed between them had all but been extinguished, and ever since they had been frantically fanning the last dying embers and lying through their teeth. Too much had happened, too much for them to find their ways back to each other. Blaming Thomas had just become too easy, a simple target for all of Alby's hurt and anger. No one was really at fault, except perhaps WiCKeD. 

Newt could practically read the thoughts passing through his former lover's mind, he knew him so well. He saw the downfall of their relationship from the other's perspective and felt how much it hurt to admit that it was over, even if neither of them said it out loud. "I don't know," Newt finally answered quietly, crossing his arms slightly defensively over his baggy ivory hoodie. "Tommy is...different." 

"Humph. Tommy," Alby scoffed, making the nickname sound like an insult. His voice was thick and bitter. 

"Whatever. It doesn't matter," Newt shook his shaggy blond locks and sighed again. "I doubt I'll ever get the chance to figure out the answer to that, not enough to satisfy me. So it doesn't matter. I'm not doing this for Tommy," he enunciated the name clearly and proudly. "I'm doing this for me, and for the sakes of everyone. We won't all make it, I don't believe that for one buggin' second. If I can help even one guy get out of here alive though, I'll do it." His voice was strong and resolute, sounding like a version of himself from long ago, from their early days. It hurt the dark skinned young man to hear his friend sounding so confident, so certain again, and knowing that he himself was no part of it.

Silence sprang up, thick and suffocating. Neither boy looked at the other, both their eyes glued to the wooden slats of the floor beneath their feet. The older Glader wasn't certain how long it took before Newt began moving again, listening as the blond's distinctive limping gait walked out of the room and away from him, further and further away until he was forever beyond reach. When he could no longer hear his steps, Alby crumpled into a pile on Newt's bed, sobs tearing out of his throat. The sheets and pillows held Newt's scent so strongly, like the boy had never left and would never leave. He breathed in as deeply as he could between gasps as he let all his tears flow shamelessly. He had no pretences now, no one he had to look strong for. Instead, he allowed himself to be the broken young man he had become, and mourn for the love he once shared with the boy who had done the most to help him survive, to help him become strong in the first place. He mourned Newt, and wondered if one day the blond might mourn him. 

\---- 

For the sake of fear, for the sake of being unable to witness the terror above, Alby ran headlong at the monsters, the Griever; the nightmare creatures WiCKeD had cooked up to test them. Most of all he ran towards them because he could not bear to see one important boy die. He could never, and yet he knew it was likely to happen. He knew just how bad the world above had become. So he ran to his death, to escape Newt's. And yet, his last thought as he fell, silent, beneath the blades and buzzsaws of the hideous beasts was the prayer that Newt and the others would find their new home above, together, and that the blond would get the happy ending he deserved.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed.


End file.
